The First Archery Lesson
by KJ Moon
Summary: Thranduil learns that the bow is not only a weapon used for war, but can also be a tool for healing.


**Disclaimer: All canon characters/place names are the creations of J.R.R Tolkien.**

**A/N:** This is where it all started. This, my friends is the first fan fiction story I have ever written. It was first posted on 17 June 2012. I decided to take it down and rewrite it. Since then it has been picked apart and meticulously put back together until it was nearly unrecognizable from its former self. The first post was rather quite crude. I could count more spelling and grammar mistakes than I had fingers and toes. I'm actually surprised nobody called me out on it in a review saying I needed a beta, because this story could have used one.

Since then, I found it interesting to see just how much my writing has improved in such a short amount of time (~ 7 months). So, a word of encouragement to all you readers and aspiring authors, don't give up. Keep writing and keep reading. With time your skill will improve and refine into your own style. I myself am still learning and still improving, but I found I am a lot better from whence I first started.

I hope you all enjoy reading this story.

**Summary:** Legolas has his first archery lesson. Thranduil learns that the bow isn't just weapon used for war, but can also be an object for healing.

* * *

**The First Archery Lesson**

**By K.J. Moon**

Caught in a chill midday breeze, golden leaves of burnt oranges and deep reds blew through the air, in a torrent of colors contrasting the clear blue sky. Mirkwood was on the eve of a change of seasons, the first day of autumn. A time of the year where night and day, and light and dark were equal, _balanced_. In honour of this momentous day the King of the Woodland realm of Northern Mirkwood Forest, held a grand feast.

The Silvan elves of Mirkwood were considered less wise than their Noldor and Sindar kin, but wilder, more dangerous, fearsome warriors with a great love for the forest. The Silvan woodelves didn't measure time by arbitrarly determined months, but rather by the position and length of the sun in sky, phases of the moon, and orientation of the stars at night. This, the first day of autumn, was one of four times of the year the Silvan elves put together a large celebration, all were eager to gather and share in the merrymaking.

Every year, before the grand feast an archery competition was held to display the fearsome skills of the renowned woodland warriors. Wagers were taking to see who would come out on top as the champion, a great honor. The King always enjoyed watching such events, celebrating amongst his people, building moral, a small reprieve from the ever-darkening shadow that lay towards to south. He rarely competed in such trivial events.

He had been standing by the river when the idea came to him, and couldn't shake the thought from his mind, taking it as a sign. At first he found it rather annoying, this feeling continuously pushing towards the edges of his mind. Finally he gave it, deciding it would be the only way for him to be at peace. So it was announced, the Great Elven King, Thranduil, would compete in the main events for one last time.

This year's archery competition was filled with hundreds of spectators, both warriors and citizens alike, all eager to witness the rare, casual and recreational display of their King's legendary archery skills. Only warriors who fought along side him battle knew fully of their King's prowess, this was a rare treat for everyone else. Of all the elves watching the event, no one was more excited and more eager to watch the King than his own son, the young Prince of Mirkwood.

Bright blue-grey eyes, wide, sparkling in excitement and awe watched his father's every move. The elfling blinked, and nearly missed seeing his father swiftly nock an arrow onto his bow. Before the elfling could gasp, the arrow was released, sent flying through the air, as it embedded itself with deadly accuracy into the centre of the farthest target.

This year, the crowd cheered as their King took his rightful place as champion. He stood before his people, wearing a crown made of red autumn flowers, and golden leaves. He looked untouchable as his golden hair and soft grey eyes danced off the autumn sun, waving towards his people. He took no claim to the prize awarded to the champion, instead bestowing it onto the runner up of the competition.

Of all the elves surrounding their King in congratulations, none was more impressed than the young prince, who was lifted into his father's arms, hugging him tightly. The young prince, the smallest of the realm, whose resolve was set, fierce determination evident in his young eyes, thought to himself, _I want to be just like Ada_.

* * *

It had been a couple days after the grand Autumn Festival and activity around the palace had settled down to once again levels of near normalcy. Sun filtered in through the large bay window of the King's office. The window offered one of the finest views of the gardens blow. On warm summer days, Thranduil would open the window, only to hear the musical sound of his son's laughter as the child ran amongst the flowers with his mother. Thranduil' smiled at the memory, they were such happy times.

It had been two years since the Queen's passing. The King's heart continuously ached for her. But he mustn't give up, no matter how much it hurt, as a King and a Father he had a responsibility to both his subjects and his son. Thranduil was not weak willed he would endure.

There were times though, when her presence was dearly missed, Thranduil struggled to find a balance between his duties as a King, and as a single parent to a young child. He felt guilty, Thranduil could not always give his son the attention he both required and reserved. His wife had been the one to nurture and play with the child. Only in the evenings when all the council meetings were concluded, or he had arrived back from hunting could he spend time with his family. His child would sit upon his lap, his wife at his side, listening as his son detailed every event of the day. They were such happy times, filled with such love and endless joy.

Thranduil's heart ached. He quickly gathered his senses and pushed back those thoughts. It would not bode well to dwell on things that were no more. He had to focus on the present and the future, not the past. The King rolled up his sleeves and went back to work. He was just going over his commander's tactical report; they were planning an offensive move on a particularly large spider nest that had been discovered far off into the South. Thranduil engrossed himself into his work.

He was halfway through the fourth page of the seemingly endless report, when Thranduil felt a light tug on his robe. He looked down to see his son quietly standing at his side, looking up at him. _Oh Elbereth, that child is quiet_, Thranduil thought. He hadn't heard the elfling enter the office. He wondered how long the Legolas had been standing there.

Thranduil set the report aside and turned towards the elfling, reaching forward to gently brush some flyaway hairs away from his son's face.

Thranduil smiled warmly. "What can I do for you, my child?" he asked.

Legolas brought forth a book, holding out for his father. "Ada, can you please read to me?" the elfling quietly asked. The child spoke so softly Thranduil strained to hear him. Since his mother's passing, Legolas had gone from an excited, energetic child to a quiet soft-spoken one, whom now rarely laughed or smiled.

"I am sorry my little leaf," Thranduil said remorsefully, gently cupping the child's face between his hands. "Please allow me couple more hours, then I can set down my quill and read to you."

The child opened his mouth to protest but closed it, thinking better of it. "Yes, Ada," he whispered, as he walked from the room looking dejected.

The hurt expression in his son's eyes tore through Thranduil like blunt knife. Thranduil often forgot that his wife would spend the long hours when he was at work, with the child. He loved his son dearly, but often overlooked the amount of attention a young one truly needed. Thranduil tried not to think of his son, he needed to concentrate on this report. They had to act soon if they wanted this spider nest to be destroyed; a meeting had been called to discuss the plans for it on the next day.

As time wore on Thranduil found it was getting harder and harder to concentrate on the report. His thoughts kept drifting back to Legolas and that look of deep hurt in the elfling's eyes. Surely he could have taken a couple minutes from his day to read to the child. A surge of regret filled the King's guilty heart. His work could have been set aside for later and completed while the child was asleep.

_I am a horrible father_, Thranduil thought, as he got up from his chair. He hoped Legolas wasn't angry with him.

Thranduil arrived at his son's room and gently pushed open the door. "Legolas, I'm coming in," he said, in an effort not to startle the elfling.

Thranduil stepped into Legolas' room and frowned. The room was empty. It looked as if Legolas hadn't been here in quite some time; all the toys and books were neatly tucked away into their homes.

_Where could he be?_ Thranduil thought.

Thranduil's panic increased with every room he searched. Everywhere he looked, Legolas was not to be found. Everyone he ran into had not seen the elfling for the past few hours. Sure Legolas was quiet, but the child wasn't invisible. Surely someone must have seen him.

The palace was put into a state of disarray as it was searched clean over. Thranduil's heart was beating so rapidly he thought it would jump out of his chest. Was he so cruel in denying his son a little attention that the elfling thought he was unwanted and ran away?

Thranduil was sick with worry as he made his way to the armory to gather his sword. If Legolas did run into the forest, he had to act fast. He would not let his child be taken from him like his wife had been.

Thranduil's hand grasped the bronze handle of the armory's large oak door, when a sound from within halted him in his tracks. He heard the ever-familiar _thwap_ of a bowstring followed by an unfamiliar yelp of pain, then a clattering of an object falling to the stone ground.

Slowly, Thranduil opened the door, a sense of relief flooded through him as he peered into the large room. His precious son was kneeling on the cold stone floor, an all too large bow and an arrow lay at his side. Legolas' soft golden hair shielded his face from Thranduil's view as the elfling sat there, tightly grasping his left wrist.

"Legolas, my child, what are you doing?" Thranduil gently asked, still recovering from the horrible thought of losing Legolas.

The elfling's small frame trembled as he tried to suppress a sob.

"Legolas?" Thranduil asked as he knelt down in front of his son, and gently placed his hand under the elfling's chin, lifting his head. A stream of silver tears made their way down the elfling's porcelain cheeks.

"Let me see," Thranduil said, as he gently pried Legolas' hand away from his wrist. Tenderly the King rolled up the tiny sleeve, revealing large angry welts across the tender insides of Legolas' forearm, the clear mark of an untrained bowman.

"Ada, it hurts," the elfling sobbed.

"I know my son, I know," Thranduil soothed as he pulled Legolas onto his lap. He slowly rocked the child back and forth. "The pain will soon lessen."

Slowly Legolas' tears subsided, as he cried into his father's shoulder.

"Legolas, what were you trying to accomplish? I have told you many times that swords and bows are not toys."

"Ada, I was not playing. I was practicing archery."

Thranduil sighed. Legolas was young, too young.

"And what brought on this sudden desire to practice archery?" Thranduil asked.

"I want to be just like you Ada! I want to be strong and good at archery like you, then you'll spend more time with me!" Legolas replied.

"Is that so?" Thranduil said. There was so much Legolas did not understand. Thranduil thought himself the last person anyone should wish to be like. But the look in his son's eyes…

"You really wish to learn archery?" Thranduil asked.

"Oh yes Ada," Legolas nodded.

Thranduil thought about his options. When Legolas wanted something, the elfling was relentless. And he had wanted to spend more time with his son.

"Okay, Legolas, we shall practice archery together," Thranduil relented, seeing no other way around it.

"Really Ada?!"

Thranduil nodded, confirming the elfling's greatest desires.

The look of pure mirth in Legolas' eyes spoke wonders to Thranduil, as Legolas giggled in excitement. Thranduil's heart warmed when he saw Legolas smile, his first real smile in a really long time.

It was unheard of to teach one so young an art of war. Thranduil knew he'd hear endless amounts of ridicule over his hasty decision. But with the look of happiness on Legolas' face, the opinions of his court did not matter.

Thranduil stood up, holding Legolas tightly in his arms. "Now, Legolas, let us go put some salve on your arm. When it is all healed, you'll have your first archery lesson."

* * *

It was early in the morning, the first rays of new day peaked over the horizon as the last stars of night started fading within the sky. Thranduil had spent the last three days trapped in long winded meetings as his councilors argued over the most efficient tactical methods of dealing with the spiders. Thranduil didn't normally need much rest, but he was exhausted, sleeping with his eyes half closed.

This small detail went unnoticed to Legolas as he eagerly jumped onto his father's bed with such excitement that the King was startled awake, and found himself thankful he did not sleep with a weapon at his side.

Legolas exploded with excitement as he jumped up and down on his father's bed.

"Ada, Ada, wake up? My wrist has healed. Look Ada, see it!? I've been checking every morning, and look!" the elfling exclaimed, jumping onto his father. "Can we start archery today? Please Ada?"

Thranduil smiled warmly at his son, nearly exasperated by the amount of energy so early. Any annoyance he may half felt at being awoken was alleviated by his son's excitement, it was such a beautiful sight.

"Yes, my leaf, we may start today," Thranduil replied, resting on his elbows. He raised an eyebrow quizzically. "I can see you managed to dress yourself too."

"Yes Ada! I didn't need any help today, I picked out all my clothes all by myself."

"I can tell," Thranduil said with a smile, for Legolas was wearing an odd assortment of mismatched colors and patterns. It mattered not to Thranduil. He did not have the heart to say anything that would dampen his son's spirits. He finally saw that lively, energetic child, not that quiet, soft-spoken one. Anyways, he'd just make his son bathe after the lesson.

* * *

Hand in hand, father and son made their way down the worn path towards the archery range. Thranduil appeared calm on the outside but inside he felt giddy with excitement. The prospect of teaching Legolas the art of the bow brought forth fond memories Thranduil had of his father, teaching him archery as a tiny elfling. Thranduil's relationship with his own father had been complicated. Archery was one of few happy times he could clearly recall. He was excited to create similar memories with Legolas, passing on the knowledge connecting generations of sons to fathers, through the precious bonds they shared.

When they approached the archery range, Thranduil was unsurprised to find it empty. They had been allotted a certain privacy that only came with waking up at the crack of dawn. It was for all the better, Thranduil did not wish for any spectators. The pair stopped before a target, the Elvenking set aside the bow and quiver he was holding and turned towards his son, he knelt down to the elfling's level and made eye contact.

"Now Legolas, before we begin, there are some rules we must discuss. I need you to listen carefully."

Legolas nodded in understanding, looking intently at his father.

"I need you to understand that archery is not a game and the bow is not a toy," Thranduil said holding up the bow. "A bow is a weapon, a tool of war and must be treated with respect. Do you understand?"

"Yes Ada," Legolas said, nodding his head.

"Any misuse of this weapon can result in an unintentional injury, and in serious instances can be fatal."

Legolas gulped and nervously nodded.

Thranduil warmly smiled, brushing hair away from Legolas' face. "Do not be nervous Legolas, I am telling you these things because they must be said and understood. I do not mean to frighten you. If you follow my rules, nothing ill will happen."

"Yes, Ada," Legolas whispered.

"Now Legolas," Thranduil said. "You must understand this, you are not permitted entrance into the archery range unless I am with you. Also, you are only allowed to practice archery in the archery range, not the armory. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ada."

Thranduil knew that when Legolas was older he would be able to trust Legolas enough to practice on his own, but as of right now it would be too dangerous for the elfling to be at the ranges unsupervised. Considering that most elves usually didn't start weapons training until they reached their majority at 50 years.

"Now before we begin there is one more thing," Thranduil said. He hid a smile as he saw Legolas impatiently shift his weight. The child was just edging to begin. "Give me your left arm."

"Ada, we already checked it, it is healed," Legolas protested, holding it defensively.

Thranduil held out is hand, silently waiting for Legolas to comply. Legolas sighed and slowly placed it into his father's waiting hand. Before Legolas knew what was happening, a piece of soft leather was slipped onto the appendage.

Legolas' eyes widened. It was remarkably beautiful. Made of soft dark leather, with elegant intricately stitched silver and green leaf patterns along the seams.

"What is it?" Legolas asked in awe.

"Do you like it?"

"It is beautiful!" Legolas beamed.

"I am glad. This is an arm guard. It will prevent that painful injury," Thranduil explained. "This was mine from when I was an elfling. I too learned to use the bow at a young age, though for different reasons."

Legolas looked up at his father in interest. His father rarely talked about his childhood.

"When you are ready, I will give you one for your right arm. You will learn to use both arms proficiently. I will not have you be underestimated in battle. You will be balanced," Thranduil determined.

Legolas smiled, excited by the very thought. "Ada, may we begin now?"

"Aye," Thranduil said as he positioned Legolas in front of the nearest target. He quietly explained how to properly hold the bow, adjusting Legolas footing and grip. He would have his son learn properly, for anything worth doing was worth doing right. Satisfied with Legolas' posture Thranduil took his position behind his child. He selected an arrow from the quiver. Together they nocked it, and pulled the bow back to full draw. Legolas did not have the upper body strength required to pull the bow to full draw on his own, and he wouldn't for some years to come.

Legolas could barely stand still as they together took aim and released the tension on the bow, sending the arrow fly through the air. It arched wide and went landing straight into the bush.

Legolas couldn't believe it. "Ada! Ada! We did it! I shot an arrow!"

Legolas excitement was infectious as Thranduil stood up and spun the elfling around in the air. If Legolas was this excited about missing the target, he couldn't wait to see his reaction to actually hitting it.

Thranduil's heart warmed at that untainted look of pure happiness on his son's face. How he missed that smile. Thranduil vowed he would do all he could to see that smile, to see his elfling's happiness. He would make an effort to practice archery with Legolas, as often as Legolas wanted. In fact he decided he would make an effort to spend as much time with his son as he could. No matter how stressed he was or how tired. This child was the most important thing in his life. And together with time, practicing archery would slowly heal the tender wounds of their hearts, strengthening their relationship as father and son.

**_Fin_**


End file.
